


Lovers and Other Cruel Things

by IvyLee



Series: How to Breathe Underwater [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Mermaids, Alternate Universe - The Little Mermaid Fusion, Drowning, Good Loki, M/M, Magic, Merman thor, Sailing, Selkies, Thor Feels, Young Love, italy is also nice, laufey is nice, meet-cute aftermath, so pure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 01:08:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4120792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvyLee/pseuds/IvyLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is the sole survivor of a shipwreck that should not have occurred. His miraculous return home is celebrated and promptly swept under the rug, because only the mad believe that there are such things as mermaids - or men. Awake at last, though, Loki inevitably makes his way back to the sea and what he knows waits there. Both he and Thor have decisions to make, and obstacles to overcome if they want to pursue any sort of relationship together; such as, on Loki's side, homicidal mobs, a newfound fear of water, and a distinct lack of gills. </p><p>Sequel to Selkies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Father/son bonding.
> 
> I couldn't stop thinking about this fic so instead of ending it at an appropriate place I'm going to keep chipping away and let it peter out in an undignified manner.
> 
> Anyone who has suggestions vis a vis where they'd like to see things go, or what they'd like things to focus on, please give them generously because the upcoming plot has yet to be completely, ahem, plotted. Also, of course, review! Leave kudos if you like things! d o i t , t h e t h u n d e r g o d c o m p e l l s y o u .

I'll tell you of lovers and other cruel things,

Of cold hearts devoid of emotion.

If I can still grasp at the joy that it brings,

I'll teach you to fly on the ocean.

 

* * *

 

Coming to was not a transition; at first he was awake, and then he realized he was awake, and that he didn’t know how long that had been the case. He was suspended at first, almost as if he were two Lokis – his body, lying in the bed, and his mind, hovering perhaps a foot above it. Neither doing much of anything except lying there, which was quite pleasant. Gazing lazily above himself, Loki saw the blind-eye bottles that always greeted him at the dawn, hanging by their necks and tinted with rose gold, chock full of stolen trinkets. He heard them chime together, buffered by the slight breeze through the open window. He knew these things. The smell of sanded wood, the sea. Someone’s light breathing beside him. his covers, his cushions, his shelves of treatises and treasures. He was home.

And yet, he also felt as if there was a war on. _I should not be here_ , Loki thought, _I should be- I was-_

He remembered that he had been at a party. A gaudy, baubled celebration. There was a storm.

He remembered realizing he was going to die.

Loki shot upright; he couldn’t breathe. He was in agonizing pain – searing pain from the gashes across his upper arms and torso, and he didn’t understand how he hadn’t felt it before. Every part of him was screaming or aching with pain, but most importantly – he _couldn’t breathe_. He clutched at his throat, gasping, making little tearing motions, scraping skin under his nails. Someone grabbed him from behind.

“ _No!_ ” he screamed, slamming an elbow behind himself and striking something solid. There was an “umph;” Loki struck out again, but whoever it was grabbed his arm. “Calm down, Loki,” he was told, by a voice right at the nape of neck. “It’s alright, now. You’re safe.”

“No,” Loki moaned, desolate. He was floating away again, the cold was taking him. This man who he had trusted was going to kill him. He didn’t want to die. The room was hazing over, spinning around. “No… no…”

“It’s alright, Loki,” his father told him, stroking his temple. “It’s alright, it’s alright… calm down.”

Father was here.

Loki was in his bedroom, he realized he knew this now. His father had held him in his arms since the day he was born, and he was safe there. Close to blacking out again, he closed his eyes and let his head loll back, he relaxed his body and focused on his breaths – they came hard and fast, and there was a nasty noise being made when they did. He tried to cough it away.

“It’s alright,” Laufey repeated, and started to lay his son back down on the stacked pillows. “You’re alright now. You’re alright. Loki, can you hear me?”

“Yes,” Loki croaked. He tried to take stock of himself. It seemed there were bandages over most of his upper body. The pain faded when he stopped thrashing about but it was still there, pulsing. His hair was pasted by sweat to his forehead, but he was cold. Bone cold. Loki swallowed and that hurt too. Everything hurt.

He gratefully accepted water when it was handed to him. His fingers were shaking, and he seemed to get it everywhere except in his mouth. Laufey eventually had to take hold of the glass and help him, pushing Loki down, though, when he tried to rise to make it easier for himself. "Don't get up," he cautioned, "you still need a lot of rest."

When Loki was settled again, Laufey put the glass down on the nightstand and sat leaning forward, with Loki’s hand pressed against his cheek and his elbow on his knee. He gazed intently at his son, his countenance showing sorrow and relief at the same time. Loki, head now clearer, was able to hold his gaze, despite his fatigue. 

Loki wanted to ask how he could possibly be alive, and back in his own bed, but his father obviously also wanted to have his piece, so he stayed quiet for the moment. Laufey struggled for a while before he could get any words out.

“Perhaps I shouldn't... no. You ought..." Laufey grimaced and decided just to come out with it. "I’m so sorry, Loki,” he whispered. “You were the only one.”

Loki's eyes widened but he only blinked, and nodded. He was, he realized, still in shock. He felt nothing – or, at least, he did not feel enough. He was alive. But they were all dead. Rie and Lucian, the fishermen’s sons who’d wheedled their way aboard to celebrate the achievements of an aristocrat they held nothing but contempt for. Abra and Alba, the twins. Niccolo himself was, too, dead. Loki didn’t even know why he had been invited, but he’d suspected it was because Niccolo’s baby sister had liked him.

She was dead too now.

And Skadi. Skadi was dead.

Skadi was dead.

Loki began to cry. The tears became heavy sobs, and before he knew it, he was weeping uncontrollably. “I’m sorry,” he moaned, pulling back his hand so he could hide his face in it. “I’m so sorry.”

“It… It’s not your fault, Loki,” his father told him, squeezing his shoulder.

“It _is_ ,” he cried, shoulders shaking with grief. “It _is_ my fault. She- she didn’t even want to go. I _made_ her.” He had been nervous.He  _hadn’t wanted to be alone._ What had he _done_?

“Oh…” his father sighed. “I’m sure… I mean… What was her name?”

Loki sniffed, then froze. “What?” he said. 

“Well, I-”

“What? You said-“

“I don’t know who it was that you lost.”

Eyes wide, Loki blinked. “Skadi… was… not on the boat?”

“What? No!”

Loki’s outburst ended as abruptly as it had begun. “Dio mio.” he flopped back down and sighed, gratitude flooding through him and tears already forgotten. “She lied to me. I’m going to kill her. I thought…” he shook his head weakly. “I should not be so thankful, when so many people are dead.”

His father gave a very small smile. “I feel the same way. But this is a time to be thankful for what we have, as well as for grief. These things go hand in hand.

“Skadi is fit and well,” Laufey continued. “She has been at your bedside day and night, but I sent her away because she got so tired she kept crawling in next to you when I wasn’t looking. You were very sick.

"You've been asleep a few days, now. You were…” Laufey glanced away. “We didn't know... Anyways. You should not be so surprised that she deceived you into going out alone, Loki. She is, after all, _your_ sister.”

Loki gave a small laugh. He didn’t realize what an effect it would have on his father; his head swung around, his piercing gaze suddenly returned. He looked as if he’d just heard the voice of God himself. Laufey, Loki was realizing, had been terrified.

“Father,” he asked, finally. “How…?”

Laufey sighed.

“There was nothing we could do for you that night,” he explained. “We could hear the storm, but it was peaceful here. An empty, heavy night. Everyone was waiting at the pier; we were worried, of course. But, of course… it would have been such a risk to send anyone out then… There was no moon.

"By the early hours of the morning, the ship hadn’t returned, and we all knew what had happened, but nobody was going to say it. Your sister was so brave, Loki, she kept me together. Although of course I pretended it was the other way around. Anyways… At dawn, we finally could send people out. But by that time, anything that was left of the ship was already being washed back to the shore. So we formed search parties, and we went out, looking for… Well, the ship had already sunk, but… There were, things… wood, you know, whatever floats, and… and bodies. There were bodies in the water.

"I didn’t know what I feared more, Loki. Having you lost out in the depths… never being able to bring you home again… or seeing you there, face down, dead. Seeing my little boy..." 

Loki, who had been wailing like a baby only moments ago, watched, stunned, as his father gritted his teeth against tears that he could not stop. Loki had never, ever, seen his father cry before. Laufey’s own father had died several years ago, his mother following soon after in her grief, and they had been buried together. And Laufey had not wept once.

Laufey did not cry with joy when his wife came home after years of unexplained silence; nor with sorrow when, days later, with tears in her eyes herself, she explained that she must leave again.

Loki didn’t know what to say.

Laufey huffed and wiped his eyes before ending the silence himself. “It was less than an hour we were out there,” he continued. “It felt, of course, like centuries. Your sister had refused to go home when I ordered her to, so we were together when I heard them calling for me. I knew immediately what it was – I grabbed her and ran as fast as I could over to the outer beach, and as I ran I prayed. I don’t know what for, I knew what I was going to see, but I was praying nonetheless.

"I got down to the shore again, and there were a dozen people, and Silas Lane, with you in his arms. Half dead and torn near to shreds, but somehow with breath in you still."

Laufey went straight on, obviously trying to avoid thinking too much about it. Loki was feeling incredibly guilty for almost being murdered. "After that we took you to one of the houses on the beach, where the doctor could come quickly and we could get you warm. And then home, as soon as the journey would not endanger you. Your friends are coming around this evening and I'll wake your sister up soon. Your mother is also going to be here in a few days. I suppose that's all there is to it.

"My God, Loki, there are no were words for what I felt when I held you then. He said he’d found you on the shore, just lying there… waiting for somebody to come along. I, I… it was a miracle”

Loki was solemn but, characteristically, he couldn’t stay silent. “No, it wasn’t,” he told Laufey. There was the end of it, and he knew the beginning. In between, there was only one path that could have been taken. “It was a sea-person.”

“Loki,” Laufey snapped, something akin to anger in his voice. “Such things are for children.”

“They are absolutely not,” Loki argued. “Everybody knows they’re real! Everybody! They killed a whole boatful of people, and I saw it! I know what is was I saw.”

Laufey grasped Loki by the shoulders and growled. “ _Loki_ ,” he warned.

“And I know what mother is too,” Loki finished.

Laufey went still. “Loki,” he said, in a very low voice. “Listen to me. I am not calling you a liar. And I am not saying you are wrong. I believe you. But such things must _not_ be spoken of, _ever_. For your sake _and_ theirs.”

Loki blanched in surprise.

“Your mother and I have always loved each other very much. Sometimes that made things harder. Because I would and did go to great lengths to protect her… and in the end that meant for the most part that we could not be together.

I’m not telling you what to do, Loki. I don’t know the whole story – frankly, I was hoping that you didn’t either, or that you’d dismiss it all as some sort of… fever dream – and I don’t want to. But obviously there’s something that runs in our family, and some _one_ out there-“

“It’s not like that,” Loki insisted, but his father just raised a skeptical eyebrow and went on. “-And I know the last thing you’d want is to endanger her by fuelling an ensemble of vengeful villagers with fantastical stories _you’d_ started.”

Loki didn’t respond for a while but eventually he lowered his gaze in silent acquiescence. And then, because this was a time for confessions and he trusted his father and he was tired of this secret weighing him down, he said out loud, “Your ‘someone’ is a ‘he’… and I wouldn’t hold much interest if it weren’t so.”

Laufey sat back and tapped the chair’s wooden arm with his forefinger. “To each his own,” he said. “Your mother, with one exception, holds no interest in the _human race_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realised there's not a single main character in this incredibly short series who doesn't break down crying...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tentative, provisional, maybe-we'll-keep-this album of this series is Spheres by Daniel Hope.
> 
> The song is for sure that one... I don't remember who it's by, it's probably called 'The Water' and it's all about water and floating and whatever, a river. Pretty inspired stuff I know

A short stretch out from the Red Bay, across from the sunset, there was a wake. Joannes Furlanus was the leader and sole participant; he sat in solitude on a rowing dinghy and plied himself with awful liquor and old cheese from his sister’s goat. He accompanied two corpses, fat, fraying and in parts, that lay at the bottom of the ocean – fairly nearby. Joannes could not see them, but they were roughly beneath the boat. They were his friends.

Joannes watched black bleed into the water as the sunlight faded. He was a fat, companionable man, accustomed to ease, and unsettled by grief. Having waited for the majority of the evening on the water, he considered his vigil ended and decided to pack away, slightly numb and probably still more coherent than he wanted. He burped quietly to himself, dabbed under his eyes with an over-loved handkerchief, and raised his bottle to the ocean in a final salutation.

The water he waved at rippled, and Joannes realized he wasn’t alone. An unsettling fear gripped him; he rationalized it and shook it off. A seal was swimming at the surface of the ocean. The black sheen from its back and the V-shaped trail it left were the only things disturbing the calm water.

The seal headed straight to the shore. Joannes, having been surprised, stopped preparing to leave and followed it with his eyes.

The seal swam all the way to the beach, where as the light faded, the shoreline and the sea were watering together under one darkness. When the seal was only several feet from the water’s edge, it pushed hard and reared back to lift its chest out of the sea.

The water around the seal coagulated and thrust up, as if moved by the beat of a heavy drum under the water. The animal’s skin clearly loosened, starting to fall away from its host and back into the water as if the unfortunate thing had been slit down the belly. The seal kept rising, the skin was left behind, the flesh uncovered beneath was white as bone and the animal stretched and lengthened until it was 5 or 6 feet tall and almost upright. The skin slid down limply, until it was hitched up at the sides and drawn up around the woman that the seal had become. As she walked out of the sea and onto the beach, her footsteps matched and became the drumbeat that Joannes could hear around his head. Joannes was choking on that drumbeat, which seemed to hum throughout the whole clear night.

The woman had hair so black it seemed to be nothing; an absence of matter. Her black hair ran in coarse waves over her seal-skin coat, which was so heavily peppered with black spots that it was solidly black everywhere except at the edges where the skin would have stretched over the animal’s front. Several paces across the sand, she stopped suddenly, and the air around Joannes grew still.

The woman bowed her head and gave the heavy, controlled sigh of someone who has not paused for breath in a very long time. Then, without a glance back, she walked straight ahead into the night.

Joannes Furlanus blinked stupidly, staring after her. _I_ _am drunk,_ he realised, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

He shook his head and rowed carefully to shore. 

 

Lady Fárbauti cut across the earth like a knife. She knew the route - as the crow flies - by heart up the knoll which saw the edges of the town settled at its foot, which was, higher up, the stoic host to the human house. From cypress and stone pine emerged the house on a curved path, humble villa of a merchant's father's father - styled with the same muted, cracking hues of the very earth it had been written onto.

All across the Mediterranean the lady had encountered burial sites that had not been there before; new and with a shuddering wrongness to them. The whole ocean reeked of blood to her. And so she could not help the fear that walked by her side as she ascended. She could not escape the wretched nakedness, the feeling of having been split which she shouldn’t have expected for another four years. But chiefly, Fárbauti was angry that someone would dare to bring harm to her family.

Fárbauti was enraged.

Soon it became apparent that in the little villa four lights were on; one in the reception room, and then three for the bedrooms; that of the owner, Laufey, that of their daughter and that of her son. They were all three in the house, which meant they were carrying on to some degree at least and all, most importantly, alive. This reassured the furious selkie.

The door opened silently when she was only a few paces away; she swept in and briefly embraced her lover, apologizing immediately for having been delayed. Skadi had been watching her mother while perched in the window with her fist pressed against her mouth, concern and agitation warring across her features. She quickly jumped up and squeezed Fárbauti through the rolls of her cloak, and her mother returned the gesture, gripping tight with her chin on her daughter's head.

Loki had remained seated on the divan. The anxiety in his countenance betrayed his very nature – Loki was half a creature of myth - and she saw that his arms were layered with horrendous scars.

“I think I’ve made a mistake,” Loki told Fárbauti, candidly, to which she made no reply.

Loki peered calculatedly at his mother, and a slow smiled crept across his face as he did. His nerves dissipated. He nodded in acknowledgement, suddenly recalling the greeting she was owed, which wasn’t enough for her – she practically leaped to him and took his face in her hands, resting her lips at Loki’s hairline, then quickly peppering him with kisses as she reaching around his back to slowly pet him. Proud Loki sighed and relaxed into her hold. Over the top of Loki’s head Fárbauti gave Laufey a pointed look, which was addressed not at him per se, but at the situation at hand.

Fárbauti drew back as Laufey approached with a bottle, and she removed from her coat a chalice inlayed with mother of pearl. She reclined on the low table across from her son and watched with a blank, distracted face as Laufey poured the rare and revered wine for her; black in the low light. Laufey set the bottle aside and sat by Fárbauti, who took a slow drink and faced Loki.

Lady Fárbauti cleared her throat.

The selkie’s soft voice was pitched low, and had a slight rasp. “Please disclose to me,” she asked, addressing the whole room, “what has occurred.” 

Loki explained the story of his sunken ship and unlikely aid, with Laufey’s help. Both accounts were befittingly accompanied by the despondent gazes of Skadi.

The selkie’s eyes, surely the blackest things about her, were fixed on Loki the whole time he spoke, lips set in grim thought as she stared. As soon as he was finished she announced without pause that she would be staying for a while. Laufey was shocked and protested that it wouldn’t be good for her health, citing the climate, and the inquisitive nature of their neighbors in the town, among other things. Fárbauti finally turned from Loki to argue quietly with her husband; she insisted these things were irrelevant. They were overridden by her duty as a mother.

Lady Fárbauti suddenly decided she was hungry and excused herself to the well-stocked pantry in order to put together an abhorrent excuse for a meal as she spoke. She arranged it on a dish she procured, once again from her coat, a plate made from one huge curved shell, ornamented with fossilized bone. Loki couldn’t help but trail behind her and blink in disgusted fascination at what she ate.

The selkie carried fat in peculiar places, but altogether, she was slim beneath her coat, and cut a stark silhouette with a candle behind her. Loki found it hard to understand how her frame could sustain her diet.

Fárbauti theorized to the family that the best way to proceed would be, logically, to open peace talks with King Odin, who lead what was not only the closest but one of the most powerful underwater kingdoms in the Mediterranean. The people of Asgard were most likely responsible for the deaths in La Baia Rossa. Sicily, Fárbauti haughtily declaimed, paled in comparison to Asgard in terms of culture and manpower both.

As she spoke she shoveled down handfuls of dry, uncooked beans coated in Laufey’ prized Indian spices, of cinnamon, garlic, and vanilla mixed together, of fish that she’d found hanging – these she spat out straight onto the floor. She got into the cured meat and ate it only after flipping both sides in ground red chilli and cumin. She ate until her nose ran and she started to cry, she wiped her face with the back of her arm or her glorious coat which she refused to part with and then continued to eat. Eventually the smell got so bad that Loki took Skadi back into the living room and continued agreeing with his mother through the wall.

“They’ll have to listen to us if they know you’ve got Jotunheim behind you… yes…” Fárbauti mumbled through the food. “By my gods, it’s unacceptable.” _Wipe._ “I’m sure we can get away with making them believe they’ve exposed themselves with this absurdity… let them know you’re all coming armed with pitchforks… and you pray to your God and get a few storms on the way… or does that not work, I don’t know. I’ve never quite comprehended Catholicism. Of course the king is not directly responsible but he’ll be turning a blind eye, that old incompetent… they don’t care, none of them care, but they will now, oho, they’ve got half the North sea on their backs, and if it's a war they want then it's a war they'll get... well, actually, I suppose, hopefully not… Loki, you would be an ambassador of course… the we could- oh, is that so, my dear? We’ll see about that… and-”

“And what do we do then, after I’ve lied about representing the bay as some sort of diplomat for humanity, come back and let everyone know some angry mermaids told us to stop sailing anywhere, ever, and to find some other way to make a living?” Loki inquired sensibly into the stone wall.

His mother smiled to herself and burped. “They’re terrified, my heart, I’m sure we can rustle something up to make them change their trade routes to here or stop fishing there. Some scary stories. These people adore sea monsters. I can do that – look at me, I’m horrifying.”

“You’re a naked woman giving herself indigestion… stop that, dear,” Laufey ordered at last, worried equally for his wife and his pantry.  “Go sit down and have another drink and I’ll get some crackers." 

Laufey was in the habit of sweeping his wife away and off to a moonlit picnic or lovers’ siesta whenever his good fortune saw her cross his threshold – he felt slightly guilty to be upset that Loki and his mysterious friend were delaying them with this war business. Laufey was back and forth across the underwater kingdoms God knew how many times a year with his textiles, and never had a problem, because he didn’t have a tendency to stick pikes onto his hull or spirit away mer-women from rocks or other such things. He felt that it all would have been avoidable… Loki was right, though, none of them would believe the family – already pointedly labeled as ‘individual’ – if they started ranting about people with tails in the ocean whose feelings were being hurt.

“We’d have more information to go on if you’d make contact with your friend, elskling,” Fárbauti told Loki as she stumbled back onto the divan.

“I’ll get around to that soon… If he’s not run off,” Loki told her, his eyes flicking conspicuously to Laufey and back. Loki’s father wasn’t pleased.

“Is that really wise?” he wondered. “We don’t want a repeat of what happened last time…”

Fárbauti loved her husband but she ignored his opinion almost exclusively. “Our ally was most likely not responsible for that tragic wreck,” she said. “Even if he wasn’t just an innocent passerby – which he might well have been, given his apparent tendency to shadow Loki - he clearly had a change of heart – and let me tell you, my love, when they work themselves up, that is _hard_ to do. And you don’t have to get back in a sailboat if you don’t want to, darling. He might even be waiting for you at the beach.”

“That’s highly unlikely,” Loki said. “Look,-“

“If he’s inquisitive…”

“I wouldn’t count on it. He’s not a complete fool.” Loki was suddenly overcome with melancholy and slumped. “Ah, but mother, what if it made him some sort of... outcast, what he did? What if something’s happened to him?”

Fárbauti inclined her head to one side and sipped. “I genuinely don’t know,” she explained, “things work very differently down here. None of this seems particularly organized, however, so I wouldn’t worry. That is to say, I expect there was no official decree, ‘attack the ship’, which is to say, he wouldn’t have been committing a crime. I also don’t expect many people to have noticed. They do work themselves into awful frenzies, like I said... I-”

“Alright, well, either way… I’ll go tomorrow.”

Laufey was leaning against a wall and frowning. Skadi had imitated him, and they exchanged a glance. Loki’s father cleared his throat. “Are you sure,” he began, knowing that he was wasting breath anyways. Loki tended to make his mind up about matters early on and then still pretend he was considering two options, in order to flatter people. At least Fárbauti, Laufey thought, had the decency to openly ignore a man.

“Father, please,” Loki said. “It’s fine.”

“It’s just if you’re getting dragged into something you’re not comfortable with… I know you have a tendency… this is all a bit much…" 

But Loki’s ego was too stoked by the fire in his cabalistic mother to continue to please Laufey (without the promise of some reward). He suddenly clapped his hands, once and loudly. “It’s settled!” he announced, even though it was not, thus finishing the argument. “I’ll go tomorrow. The family is reunited and mother is still hungry, so instead of blowing air around, please let’s just eat.”

At that, Fárbauti leapt from the divan again. Loki followed her into the kitchen where he shadowed her at the half-set table, flipping meat around in chilli with forced determination.

And so Laufey was left pouting with his daughter back where they’d started.

“My dear,” the merchant confided unhappily to Skadi, “I am a stepping stone to this family.”

Skadi, who was tired of trailing around after others and not getting a say despite being elder than her brother, and who recognised that Fárbauti and her son were possessed of a fatal arrogance, and who had been made to feel inferior enough of late, nodded in agreement. “And," she said, "by God, I do not like the thought of him back on the sea. The only way- Ha! I’ve just had a thought.” She covered her smile with the back of her hand.

“The only way I’m comfortable having Loki see this merman again is in our own house, with our guest heaped into a bathtub.”

This made Laufey laugh.

The couple started to cackle loudly enough to draw Loki, eyes full of regret and watering, too, from the spices, from the kitchen. Fárbauti stumbled behind him, fat, drunk and confused. She didn’t know what was going on but she started laughing too, clear and sharp, like a witch. Only Loki was left with a frown on his face, and he started to blush, but when he asked what was so funny all he could get was – from either Laufey or Skadi – “-a bathtub! Oh, God…”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi gang, long time no see! Please enjoy.
> 
> I think I've changed the quotation marks around on this one, sorry.

Before long, Loki was ordered to bed by his father, who still acted as a caretaker. He was lying, unable to sleep, when Laufey came up to speak to him privately. He had brought water, and set it down quietly, smoothing the sheets with his hands. Putting Loki to bed like a child. On some level, Loki appreciated it.

Laufey told him in a low voice – as he did so, glass shattered downstairs, provoking laughter – that he wasn’t to go down to the bay in the morning. His mother’s return had made everyone, as it always did, slightly intoxicated. Decisions like this needed to be informed by clarity. Loki felt his stomach twist. 

He pleaded, halfheartedly. He had never been displaced like this; not for so long. His heart felt half empty from longing for the ocean. Loki wondered vaguely whether it was the mer-person himself, enthralling Loki from a distance.

Laufey was a concerned father and an experienced seaman; he knew the dangers of what Loki was flirting with, long since disillusioned. He was unyielding. Away from Fárbauti’s coercive influences, he made Loki swear not to leave, which he did.

 

When the night sky became soft, in the hour before dawn, Loki awoke.

He skirted the edge of his room, connecting the places where the floorboards wouldn’t creak. He collected a walking stick, which he tied to the sack from under his bed, prepared in anticipation of the event; in it was a crumbling loaf, a pomegranate, old wine and two glasses, sheets of paper, ink and a pen, and a few other trinkets. He put it all over his shoulder.

Loki climbed, with the confidence of experience, out of his window and down the vine which dominated that side of the house. Halfway down, growing impatient, he jumped, landing almost soundlessly in the dirt. He glanced tentatively up at the house, then around him. Nothing stirred.

Loki smiled widely. He started the trek down to the bay.

 

The ocean, massless and provocative entity, was no longer a mysterious addendum to the glorious, impartial world Loki lived in. It was no longer romantic. He supposed, when he first saw it on the horizon and felt himself pale, he should always have known this.

Loki was a scholar, too. He chastised himself. If the fear and respect he now felt had come before the experience, then perhaps it would never have happened. He would not be in mourning. _I can only be guaranteed of influence over myself,_ he reminded himself, thinking of Niccolo, who, of noble birth, had more or less been brought up to understand that he would never truly be wrong about anything. Loki doubted he could have convinced Niccolo to abort the celebrations. 

_In there_ , he thought, watching the dull horizon, _just like on the land, terrible things happen. But-_

But it was thrill he felt, moving through him, as he reached the shore. And comfort, too; at the familiar. Loki was awash with contradictions.

He followed the beach, throwing starfish, trying not to hum in excitement. Trying not to smile. Every now and then he furtively cast his eyes over the waves, but saw only vast emptiness. Yes, there were fish there, small and quick under the crests, but nothing further than that.

When Loki reached the place where he knew, from description, he’d been found, he sat down to wait there. He took a breath to collect himself, to try and calm down. He knew what was going to happen now. There would be a merman here with him. Or nothing at all. 

Loki looked to the sea. He saw the face under the waves almost immediately.

Loki’s shoulders would have drawn up in anticipation, had he not forcefully repressed the reaction. The face was waiting, unmoving, watching him in return. So completely surreal his mind had almost denied its existence. Loki might have glossed over it, relegating it alongside the other great ambiguities of existence; something to never understand.

But there it was, close enough to see clearly; a handsome, sun-bronzed face, but not overly elegant; beautiful through its strong and enunciated features. It was swathed in long tangles of dull gold hair which floated weightless under the water. Below it, a strong chest and shoulders. And below that...

Loki greeted the man, trying to keep his appearance relaxed. The merman, in response, hesitated, then rose above the water, which Loki found quietly stunning – breaking the surface, coming into the air, made him indisputably real. And he _was_ real, in expression as well; a curious, uninhibited countenance. In fact – laughably – the merman appeared just as mesmerized by Loki as Loki was by him. His brow was furrowed in concern.

The merman spoke in a low tone that was somehow both expressive and obdurate. ‘You are well,’ he said; it was a question. ‘You will be well.’

Loki couldn’t help but smile. It was a gesture of appeasement, but, further to that, he was exhilarated. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Because of you.’

They spoke softly, then; Thor was embarrassed. He filled in the gaps. Eventually, Loki pushed his apprehension aside and rose, offering the man - Thor - his hand. Loki hoped it wouldn’t scare him away. 

On the contrary, Thor almost beached himself trying to reach him. Thor was, Loki realized, quite naïve. He walked down to the water.

They shook hands; their eyes met. Loki grinned. Each was transfixed.

 

They spent the whole morning getting to know one another. Thor had indicated a willingness to troubleshoot their races’ hostilities, to try to prevent further attacks, but the topic was benchmarked. Each was caught up in their discovery of the other. Loki yearned desperately to hear of Thor’s life below the waves. Thor, in turn, wanted to know each minute detail of Loki’s life. What Loki dismissed as mundane, Thor insisted on hearing. There was almost nothing, Loki realized, about life on the land that could bore him.

Thor had been worried at first; apologetic, about the shipwreck. Before long Loki could reassured him – Thor discussed it with grave sincerity.

Before long, they spoke freely, just like long-term friends. Thor became cautiously tactile. It was, Loki learned, a characteristic of his race. As they spoke, where the water was perhaps a foot deep – Loki sitting fully clothed, and Thor reclining on the sand – Thor slowly rolled up Loki’s trouser legs, and put his hands on Loki’s shins, starting to inspect them.

‘-But each one is different,’ Loki said. ‘Um…’

‘Fascinating,’ Thor murmured. He caught Loki’s bemused stare. ‘Oh,’ he said, withdrawing his hands. ‘Is it taboo?’

Thor behaved like a giant puppy, Loki thought. Strong and gentle – if about eight feet long. He was gazing up at Loki, trying to convey sincerity. ‘You can touch my legs,’ Loki told him, wryly, ‘if I can touch your tail.’

Thor laughed. ‘Of course!’ He lifted it – not too easily – and lay it over Loki’s toes, slapping the water heavily as he did so and spraying them both.

Thor was amused by Loki’s legs. ‘Why is there hair?’ he asked, as Loki, in wonderment, stroked his tail, which seemed to be flecked with blood and gold. Thor had delicate fins at his hips, on either side. Their membrane was thin enough to be translucent, just like the one between the tips of his tail. Thor had traces of webbing between his fingers, too, and gills. And he had, Loki realized, no body hair. ‘Why are their scales on your tail? Don’t be silly,’ Loki said.

Thor smiled. He seemed rarely offended. His inspection moved down to Loki’s feet, which interested him greatly. He held Loki, tenderly, by one ankle, and lifted up his leg to regard Loki’s toes and sole. Loki had to lean back on his elbows to allow it - inconvenienced, but not yet quite embarrassed. There was, still, something quietly intimate about it. This interaction held an honesty of expression Loki appreciated, but was unused to. He grinned to himself.

‘You know,’ Thor told him, softly, meeting his eyes again, ‘there’s a part of me that wants very badly to kill you.’

‘Have I done something wrong?’ Loki wondered, half joking.

‘Not like that,’ Thor said. ‘It’s like this itch, I can’t get it to stop; I can only ignore it. I think it’s innate.’

Loki swallowed. ‘There’s a voice that says, “drown him”,’ Thor said. ‘”Make him forever yours”.’

‘Well, please don’t,’ Loki said, trying to withdraw his foot. Thor didn’t let go. In fact, he tightened his grip.

Loki looked Thor in the eye. He jerked his leg back violently but couldn’t get free; Thor’s eyes widened. There it was again; not fascination, though. Need. ‘Thor,’ Loki said.

Thor released him suddenly, coming back to himself. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. He gazed at Loki with a piercing and complex expression. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said. ‘I would never do it, of course.’

‘You didn’t know that for sure,’ Loki said, slowly, ‘until just now.’

‘No,’ Thor admitted. ‘It’s… something of a relief.’

They watched each other for a while. Eventually Thor’s gaze turned inwards. ‘I’m really not like you,’ he realized.

 _No, you’re not_ , Loki thought. He took Thor’s hand. Thor held his gently, like something delicate he did not understand.

‘It’s alright,’ Loki said. ‘Now, tell me- how do you breathe when your head’s above the water?’

 

Eventually, the conversation drifted back to the hostilities. Loki and Thor agreed to meet at the same place at the same time the next day, and bring along which choice companions they thought relevant. It was to be a small and informal meeting.

Afterwards, Loki stood up and shook himself off. He made for the shore, where his satchel was waiting.

‘Are you leaving?’ Thor asked him, trying to follow.

‘No; I am hungry,’ Loki told him. ‘Do you want to try human food? I brought some other things too. I see that you like our jewelry, at least.’

Thor brought a hand up to the dragonet charm he now wore. ‘Do you want it back?’ The thought made him melancholy. He already seemed quite fond.

‘No, you can keep that,’ Loki said. ‘You know you have my gratitude.’

‘I should have brought something for you too.’

‘You can shower me with gifts the next time we meet. Thor, stop ther. You’re going to be exposed if someone comes.’

When Loki turned around, Thor, great magnificent beast that he was, had flopped and dragged himself almost entirely onto the beach, and was lying, breathing hard from exertion. The water only reached him when the waves came in. ‘I want the food,’ he said.

Loki paused and regarded him thoughtfully. ‘You’re far too trusting,’ he said. ‘I can bring it to you.’

Thor smiled. ‘I wish I could stand like you,’ he said. ‘Conversing horizontal is not really befitting of a prince. Or a warrior.’

Loki laughed. ‘Well, I wish I had a magnificent tail that could take me across the seven seas. We can’t all get what we want.’ 

Thor didn’t have much praise to sing of the fruit or the bread, but when Loki poured him a glass of red wine, he appreciated that a great deal. Loki was quickly refilling it.

‘You know they grow it – the grape - all around these parts,’ Loki told him. ‘It’s the best in the world.’

‘Oh, I’m aware,’ Thor said. ‘Of course the knowing is pointless, since we’ve a significant lack of suppliers.’

‘That could change.’ Loki, said. He looked into the distance. ‘You just want to use me for alcohol.’

‘I do _now_ ,’ Thor admitted. Like great men before him, he was thoroughly lost in the bottle. ‘Is there more?’ He adressed this question to the bottom of his cup.

Thor, Loki realized, had built up no tolerance, and despite his size was already drunk.

Loki looked up. It was noon.

‘It’s a bit early for this,’ Loki said. Then he looked around, finally taking a moment to see from the outside the genial bubble they’d been in all morning. It was early for drinking, yes, but he’d been here since dawn.

Thor asked, ‘are you worried they’re looking for you?’

‘They certainly are. I’ll tell you what,’ Loki said. ‘Do you see that cove down the beach?’

Thor saw it. It was nice and secluded; in the opposite direction to the town.

‘Don’t mention it tomorrow, but I’ll meet you there again in the evening, alone. Then we can talk more. And I’ll bring you a nice supply of this.’ He shook the empty bottle. Thor beamed.

‘And I can bring gifts from my kingdom,’ he said.

Loki began to pack up his things; Thor held up a hand. ‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘In my kingdom, we bid goodbye with a kiss.’

Loki smirked. Thor was brazen. He leaned forward towards Thor, though, since his custom was the same; three kisses to either cheek. Loki saw Thor’s eyes widen, slightly, in surprise, although he had tried to mask it. He stopped. 

‘You are lying,’ Loki realized. Thor bit his lip, grinning. Loki couldn’t help but do the same.

Loki could see already that Thor was addictive, inevitable. It would be very easy to orbit his brightness. He didn’t deserve to have everything so easy, Loki thought, so he shoved Thor, lightly. ‘That is the custom in my kingdom,’ he said. ‘Then a good slap.’

But Thor turned his cheek to Loki. He was not expecting a slap.

Loki paused, only briefly. Then he put his hand by Thor’s jaw and kissed his cheekbone, once. It was cold, was his first reaction. But not slimy, like he;d thought. Thor smelled desperately of the sea. Further to that, he had a particular, personal scent, which seemed deep and old and vitalizing. Loki cleared his throat as he sat back on his haunches, trying not to flush. For the first time, words caught in his throat.

Thor watched him steadily, smile knowing, but a bit surprised. _Bastard_ , Loki thought. _He is a real bastard_.

‘Well, then,’ Loki said, and he stood to go. Thor continued to beam up at him. ‘I’m so glad I could finally meet you,’ Thor said, in his deep pitch. ‘I- be well. 

‘And yourself,’ Loki said. He didn’t know how to end it. Every silence, he wanted to fill with more words. He didn’t know nearly enough.

But Thor spared him. With a shallow bow, the merman returned to the water. He travelled with remarkable – almost dangerous - speed once submerged. Soon he had disappeared entirely. He could have never been there. The air around Loki was silent; the day went on.

Loki walked home. 

 

His mother was waiting, not far from the beach. This did not surprise him. She stood there wrapped in her cloak, consideration on her face. Loki knew she had not been watching them; he’d been aware of being seen.

‘Lose your way to the sea, did you, mother?’ he asked her. Fárbauti smiled widely. The beauty of the smile was, as always, eclipsed by the eerie nature of her many stained, pointed teeth. ‘Naughty boy,’ she chastised him, her tone mocking itself. ‘Father and I have been very worried.' 

‘I am sure,’ Loki said. He took her hand – a rare opportunity – and together they began to walk home. They took Fárbauti’s path – over-literal and hazardous, straight to the house. The selkie did not understand roads.

Loki had salt on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review or I'll definitely kill Loki this time around.


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